Aayat's POV

The morning light in London always felt softer somehow, like the city never fully woke up, just stretched under a grey sky and decided to stay in that half-dreaming state.

But I was wide awake.

Two more days.

Two more days, and I'd be back in India.

The thought made my heart jump, part excitement, part... something I didn't want to name. I tried to ignore that part, pulling open my wardrobe instead. Half my clothes were already packed, the rest scattered on the bed in the kind of organized chaos that only happens when you're pretending to be calm.

"India," I murmured to myself, smiling faintly as I folded a clothes. "After almost 2 weeks."

Then my smile faltered.

Seven months.

Two already gone.

Five more to go in this... arrangement.

This marriage that had started like a storm and settled into something quieter, not peaceful, just paused.

Five months, and maybe then we'd never cross paths again.

Maybe that was the whole point.

I shook my head quickly, as if the thought itself was something fragile I might drop. "Not today," I muttered, trying to chase away the heaviness. "Not thinking about him today."

My phone pinged. A message from Ryan Archer.

Ryan: Coffee? Or brunch? Or both, because I can't decide and you have nothing better to do.

I laughed. "Of course you can't."

Ryan was chaos wrapped in charm, the kind of friend who could drag you out of your own mind without even trying.

⸻

A few hours later

The café was tucked away in a quiet corner of Notting Hill, all glass windows and the smell of espresso.

Ryan spotted me first, waving like a man who thought he was in a movie. His blond hair was as messy as always, his grin infuriatingly confident.

"You're glowing," he said as soon as I sat down. "Either London's finally agreed with you, or someone back in India's been sending you love letters."

I rolled my eyes. "It's the first one. Definitely the first one."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "So, when's the big flight?"

"Two days," I said, smiling. "I can't wait to see everyone again. The food, the noise, the heat, even the chaos."

Ryan grinned. "Ah, the nostalgia phase in just two weeks. You'll regret that the moment your plane lands and someone honks at you for existing."

I laughed, taking a sip of my coffee. "Probably."

He tilted his head, studying me. "And your husband? What does Mr. Mysterious think about his wife jetting back home for months?"

My fingers froze around the cup for half a second. Then I shrugged, forcing a smile. "He's... fine with it. We both needed a little space."

Ryan raised an eyebrow. "That sounded almost convincing."

"Shut up, Archer."

He laughed, leaning back. "You still haven't told me anything about this guy. Not even a name. You know how insulting that is to my journalistic curiosity?"

"I'm protecting you," I said with mock seriousness. "If I told you, you'd probably try to Google him, and that never ends well."

He smirked. "You're definitely hiding something."

I smiled, but it didn't quite reach my eyes. "Maybe I'm just tired of everyone wanting to know."

He looked at me for a beat longer, then grinned suddenly. "Fair enough. But next time you get married, give me a heads-up at least."

I groaned. "You're never going to drop that, are you?"

"Never. You scared the life out of me, by the way. That night when I came to check on you, and you nearly killed me with a lamp." He said.

I couldn't help laughing, remembering it vividly. "You were standing in my balcony at midnight, Ryan! What did you expect me to do, offer tea?"

"I texted you!" he protested.

"After you climbed up three floors like some criminal!"

He chuckled, shaking his head. "To be fair, I didn't think you'd actually attack me."

"I was ready to kill you," I said, pointing at him. "Like actually kill you. You appeared out of nowhere, wearing black, and I thought, 'Great, London's polite burglars have evolved.'"

We both burst out laughing, the sound cutting through the noise of the café , easy, unrestrained, exactly what I needed.

For a moment, it felt simple.

Just me and a friend, no politics, no titles, no unspoken truths.

Ryan wiped a tear from his eye. "I swear, Aayat, you're impossible."

"And yet you keep calling," I shot back.

He raised his cup in a mock toast. "To impossible people."

I smiled, clinking mine against his. "And to bad timing."

But when the laughter faded and the table fell quiet, I caught myself staring out the window, at the drizzle, the blurred city, the faint reflection of my own face.

Two days.

That was all the distance left between me and everything I'd tried not to feel.

Ryan was saying something, a joke probably, but his voice blurred at the edges of my thoughts.

Because somewhere, back in India, I could almost hear the echo of Mihir's voice, calm, steady, haunting.

And no matter how far I'd come, I knew that once I landed there... our worlds would collide again.

The sky had turned a bruised shade of violet by the time I got home.

London evenings always carried this kind of loneliness, too polite to feel empty, but empty all the same.

I dropped my bag by the couch, kicked off my shoes, and checked my phone.

Seven missed calls.

All from the same name.

Terrible Human 👺.

The screen flickered for a second before his face appeared

the familiar backdrop of his study behind him, dimly lit, shadows curling across the wall.

Even through the pixelated haze, Mihir Raghuvanshi looked exactly the same

composed, unreadable, as if even the camera didn't dare catch him off guard.

I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, trying to act casual.

"Too much calling, Mihir," I said, leaning back against the couch. "How will you live after I leave?"

His eyes flicked up at that ,something sharp in them, gone as quickly as it appeared.

He didn't smile. He didn't joke back.

Instead, he adjusted something out of the frame, quickly, almost guiltily.

My brows knitted. "What was that?"

"Nothing," he said.

"Mihir," I said, narrowing my eyes. "What did you just hide?"

"Nothing important," he replied, tone even, which, of course, meant it was absolutely something.

I sighed, half-smiling. "You really need to work on your lying face."

He didn't respond.

Just looked at me.

Steady. Unmoving. That unnerving kind of silence that only he could turn into a weapon.

"What?" I asked finally, when the quiet stretched too long. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

He didn't look away.

Didn't blink.

His voice came, lower than usual, softer, but not uncertain.

"I miss you."

For a second, I forgot how to breathe.

The words hit harder than they should have, not because of what he said, but who was saying it.

Mihir Raghuvanshi didn't say things like that.

He didn't even hint at them. He built entire fortresses to make sure he never had to.

I blinked, trying to laugh it off. "What did you just say?"

He just kept looking.

That same steady gaze. That same calm.

Only this time, it wasn't distant, it was... honest. Disarming.

"Oh god," I muttered, shaking my head. "Are you possessed again?"

That finally earned the faintest curve of a smile from him, barely there, but enough to make my stomach twist.

"I'm serious, Mihir," I said quickly. "Did someone spike your tea? Is Zyran behind this? Blink twice if you need help."

"No one's behind this," he said simply.

I stared at him, still half-convinced I was dreaming.

"This is new," I said slowly. "You, saying you miss me. That's... a first."

He tilted his head, eyes never leaving mine.

"Then maybe it's about time."

I didn't know what to say to that.

There was something terrifying about hearing sincerity from a man who could make silence feel like command.

And yet, there it was,unguarded, deliberate, devastating.

"Mihir..." I began, but the words tangled somewhere in my throat. "You don't just drop lines like that on video calls, okay? You're going to give me a heart attack."

He said nothing. Just smiled faintly, the kind of smile that wasn't quite real, but wasn't fake either.

And then, quietly:

"Good night, Aayat."

"Yeah," I said, softer than I meant to. "Good night."

But neither of us hung up.

The screen stayed lit, his eyes still on mine, two cities apart and yet caught in a silence that felt dangerously close to truth.

For a few seconds, neither of us said anything.

Just the faint hum of the line, the soft crackle of distance between London and Delhi.

Mihir was still looking at me, calm, collected, like he hadn't just detonated a sentence that didn't belong in our world.

"I miss you."

It still echoed in my head, too raw to be real.

I blinked a few times, searching his face for a trace of teasing, a smirk, something that would tell me he was joking.

There was none.

"Mihir," I said slowly, narrowing my eyes, "you're... you're serious?"

He didn't answer, just tilted his head slightly, that quiet gaze holding steady.

It wasn't uncomfortable, it was worse.

It felt like he could see right through me.

I laughed nervously, trying to push the air back into the room. "Okay, who are you, and what have you done to the actual Mihir Raghuvanshi? Because he doesn't say stuff like this."

His expression didn't change.

Just that faint, knowing look, the one that always made me want to both punch and question him at the same time.

"Oh my god," I muttered under my breath, pretending to fan myself. "You're actually saying it. You're possessed. This is some next-level haunting, Mihir."

"I'm not possessed," he said, quietly, calmly, too calmly.

"Then what's wrong with you?" I asked, a little too sharp to hide the tremor in my voice.

"You don't, you don't talk like that."

"I meant it," he said simply.

The words dropped between us like stones. No hesitation. No defense.

And suddenly I couldn't look at him anymore.

Because if I did, I might believe him. And that was something I wasn't ready for.

I forced a laugh, awkward, too quick. "Right. Okay. Great talk, Mihir. Glad to know you're capable of basic human emotion. We'll throw a party for that when I get back."

He just smiled faintly, that same unreadable calm. "You always deflect."

"I'm hanging up now," I said before he could respond. "Bye, Mr. Chief Minister."

"Aayat" he started, but I'd already swiped the screen.

The call ended.

His face disappeared.

The quiet that followed was deafening.

I sat there for a long moment, staring at my own reflection on the black screen.

The city lights blinked faintly behind me, but all I could hear were his words.

I miss you.

I pressed the phone against my chest and groaned. "God, no. No, no, no. We're not doing this."

I tossed the phone onto the couch like it had burned me and stood up, pacing.

Two days. Just two more days, and I'd be back in India.

Back to whatever this strange, brittle thing between us really was.

And maybe after five more months, it would all be over, neat, tidy, distant.

That's what I told myself.

But for some reason, the echo of his voice didn't listen.

Sleep didn't come easy that night.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, watching shadows shift across it as the London rain tapped against the window.

Every time I closed my eyes, I heard it again.

Mihir's voice.

Calm. Unshaken. Certain.

"I miss you."

I groaned and buried my face in the pillow.

"Why would you even say that?" I mumbled to no one.

He wasn't supposed to. That wasn't us.

We were, what? A contract? A name on paper? A political shield? Anything but... that.

And yet, my heartbeat hadn't listened to logic since that call.

After a few minutes of tossing, I grabbed my phone. No new messages. Of course not.

He wouldn't text. He'd just drop that line like a storm and walk away as if nothing happened. Typical Mihir Raghuvanshi behavior.

I switched off the lamp, muttering, "You're not thinking about him, Aayat. You're just jet-lagged in advance."

But the sleep that finally came was filled with fragments, his voice, his eyes, the way he looked at me before I hung up.

⸻

The next morning, London was grey and loud again.

One more days before I left.

I dressed quickly, jeans, beige coat, hair in a loose bun, and drove off before my thoughts could catch up with me.

Ryan Archer had texted at 8 a.m.:

"Coffee or lunch, Mrs. India-bound? Before you ditch us permanently?"

I'd said yes, partly because I wanted caffeine, mostly because I needed to think about anything other than last night.

He was already at our usual corner table when I got there, tall, annoyingly good-looking, and smirking like always.

"Aayat Mihir Raghuvanshi," he said, standing as I approached. "Still dramatic as ever. You're glowing, London must miss you already."

"Don't start," I said, sitting down. "You sound like my mother."

"Please. Your mother never asked if you're coming back."

I froze mid-sip. "Excuse me?"

He grinned. "I saw the photos, remember? Internet's full of them. So? How's Mr. India?"

I forced a laugh. "Don't call him that."

"Why not? He looks like the kind of guy who probably schedules emotions on a calendar."

That almost made me choke on my coffee. "You have no idea how accurate that is."

Ryan chuckled. "So, are you going to tell me the truth, or are we sticking with the official fairytale?"

"The official one's more fun," I said lightly. "You know, smiling pictures, political alliances, joint appearances... boring stuff."

He leaned forward. "Meaning?"

"Meaning," I said, swirling my cup, "that it's not exactly The Notebook, okay? It's... complicated."

"Complicated as in you hate each other or you secretly like him but you'd rather die than admit it?"

"Neither," I said quickly, looking away.

Definitely the second one.

Ryan watched me for a beat and then smirked. "Ah. Silence, the universal sign of emotional chaos."

I shot him a glare. "You're insufferable."

"I try."

I smiled despite myself. Ryan always had that effect, pulling me back to ground, making the heaviness dissolve for a while.

"Speaking of chaos," I said, "you still haven't apologized for that stunt you pulled last week."

He blinked. "Which one?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Standing in my balcony at midnight like some horror movie extra."

He laughed. "I messaged! You just didn't see."

"Oh, I saw," I said, pointing at him. "And if I'd had something heavy in my hand, you'd be in the Thames right now."

"Good to know your instincts are still homicidal," he teased.

"Only when people scare me to death."

He laughed again, shaking his head. "I missed you, you know."

That line hit a little too close to last night.

And before I could stop myself, my brain whispered back, so did Mihir.

I forced a quick smile. "Yeah, yeah. You'll survive."

We talked for another hour, travel, London, random gossip, but no matter how much I laughed, a part of me stayed far away, replaying that call, those eyes, that voice that refused to fade.

Two more days.

Then I'd see him again.

And I had no idea what I was supposed to do with the way those three words still echoed inside me.

—

The next morning

The sky was a pale, uncertain grey when I stepped out of the car.

Typical London, half-asleep, half-dreaming, like it could never decide between rain and sunlight.

I pulled my coat tighter and looked up at the building rising in front of me.

My building.

My dream.

The scaffolding still clung to its edges, the glass panels half-installed, cranes moving lazily above it. Workers in yellow helmets moved like clockwork ants, their voices blending with the hum of machinery and the low rumble of traffic beyond the barricades.

I smiled. "Not bad," I murmured, slipping on the safety helmet handed to me by the site supervisor. "It's finally starting to look like something real."

"Morning, Mrs. Raghuvanshi," the man said politely, clipboard in hand. "We've finished most of the structure. The interiors should start in two weeks. Would you like a walk-through?"

I nodded, following him as he talked numbers, schedules, and deadlines, the language of progress. But his words faded into background noise, because my eyes were on the view.

Every beam, every unfinished wall, every scent of dust and concrete felt like a heartbeat.

My heartbeat.

I could still remember the first sketch I'd made, a hotel that wasn't just luxury, but story. A place that felt like belonging, where warmth mattered more than marble. I'd told Papa about it once, years ago, over tea and laughter.

"You'll build it one day, Aayu," he'd said, eyes crinkling in that way they used to. "Something beautiful. Something that carries your name without needing it written on the walls."

Now, standing here, boots covered in dust, I felt that memory wrap around me like sunlight through fog.

I walked slowly to the edge where the structure opened toward the Thames. The water shimmered faintly under the dull morning light. My throat tightened.

"Papa," I whispered, barely audible against the noise of the site, "maybe you'd be proud of me if you were here."

The words caught somewhere between my chest and the wind.

For a moment, I closed my eyes. I could almost hear his laugh again, the soft one that always followed whenever I said something ridiculous.

The supervisor's voice pulled me back. "Ma'am? Would you like to see the suites level next?"

I blinked, nodding quickly. "Yes. Let's go."

As we climbed the temporary stairs, I glanced around, taking in the skeletal outlines of what would soon be rooms, glass walls, muted tones, city views. Each floor told a story that hadn't yet found its ending.

"This is where the VIP room will be," the supervisor said, gesturing toward a wide, open space. "We're finalizing design approvals next week. Should be done before spring."

Spring.

By then, I'd be gone. Back in India. Back to that strange, fragile life I still didn't know how to name.

I ran a hand along the rough concrete wall. "It's beautiful," I said softly.

"It will be," he replied with quiet pride.

When I finally stepped outside again, the wind had picked up, crisp, cold, alive.

The city stretched before me, busy and indifferent. But for once, I didn't feel small inside it.

This place, this project, it was mine.

No politics. No titles. No names borrowed from someone else's legacy.

Just Aayat.

I took one last look at the half-built structure and smiled. "We're almost there, Papa," I whispered. "Almost."

And for the first time in a long while, the ache in my chest felt a little bit like peace.

Evening

The sky had deepened to a bruised purple by the time I left the site.

The air smelled faintly of rain and cement, the city glowing softly under the streetlights.

I pulled my coat tighter and walked toward the car, hands in pockets, replaying the day in my head. Every unfinished wall, every crane, every beam felt like proof that I was building something of my own, something my dad might have been proud of.

I almost laughed at the irony. Here I was, chasing a dream across continents, and yet... my heart was still in India, tangled up in a man who didn't even know how to say what he felt without breaking all his own rules.

The car arrived with a hiss. I slid inside, letting the city blur past the window.

Then my phone buzzed.

I frowned at the screen.

Incoming video call: Terrible Human👺

I groaned, half-laughing. "Seriously, this man has no concept of personal space," I muttered, answering.

His face appeared instantly, framed by the warm glow of his study. The same calm, composed Mihir I knew so well. But there was something different this time, a faint softness in his eyes, a flicker that made my stomach twist.

"You're working late," I said, leaning back in the cab seat. "Or stalking me, which wouldn't surprise me."

"I saw an article," he said, voice low, measured. "About the London project. The hotel."

I stiffened, blinking. "You... read it?"

He nodded once. "I wanted to see it. I wanted to see you."

My chest tightened. "Mihir..."

"I didn't call to argue," he said quickly, anticipating the deflection. "I just... wanted to hear your voice."

I swallowed. "You do know it's past eight here, right? People are trying to live?"

"I'm not anyone's definition of reasonable," he replied, faintly smiling. That same maddening, composed Mihir smile. "You, on the other hand... building your dream. London. I'm proud of you, Aayat. You know that, don't you?"

I blinked, touched despite myself. My fingers tightened around the phone. "I do."

Silence fell for a heartbeat, then Mihir leaned slightly closer to the camera, eyes intense. "And what about you? Are you proud of yourself?"

I hesitated. The question hit harder than I expected. I had worked so hard, sacrificed so much, traveled so far... and yet, sitting here, the ache of his absence wrapped around me.

"I am," I admitted softly, voice almost lost in the cab's hum. "I'm... I think I finally am."

He nodded once, slowly, letting the words settle. "Good. You should be."

The silence stretched again, this one heavier. Then he said it, low, deliberate, impossible to ignore:

"I miss you."

My chest lurched. Again. Every single time.

"I know," I whispered, forcing a laugh I didn't feel. "You really have no idea how much damage you do with three words, do you?"

He didn't smile. Not fully. But there was a faint curve in his expression that made my stomach twist and my heart rebel against logic.

"I do," he said simply. "But I can't stop."

I pressed the phone against my chest, caught between pride in my work and the ache of wanting him close. London blurred past the window, the city lights stretching into streaks, and I realized that no matter how far I ran, how much I accomplished, some part of me would always be back in India, with Mihir, tangled in the impossible.

"Two more days," I murmured, almost to myself. "Then... we'll see."

"I'll be there," he said quietly, and for once, there was no teasing, no rules, no distance in his voice. Just certainty.

And for the first time all day, I didn't try to fight it.

"Goodnight, Mihir," I said softly.

"Goodnight, Aayat," he replied.

The screen went dark.

And the city, the hotel, the dreams I'd built with my own hands, none of it mattered as much as the echo of those words.

I miss you.

The Next Day

The airport was alive with motion, rolling suitcases, hurried footsteps, announcements blaring over the speakers. I was weaving through the crowd, trying to keep my thoughts distracted: boarding pass, coffee, security lines. Anything to keep Mihir from creeping back into my mind.

Then I almost collided with someone.

"Oh! Sorry!" I said automatically, stepping back.

The woman I bumped into didn't move or apologize. She just looked at me.

For a second, the world tilted.

Black kohl eyes. Sharp, dark, impossible. The kind that held you still, stripped you bare without trying. High cheekbones, an almost familiar poise, a presence that demanded attention without speaking.

And then my stomach dropped.

No... it can't be.

But there was something, someone, in those features, something achingly familiar. Something I couldn't name at first, but that whispered a name I'd never thought I'd hear again: Naina.

I shook my head. Impossible.

Naina Raghuvanshi had been gone for years. Everyone said she was dead. Even when I'd tried to ask around, investigate subtly, nothing. No trace. Nothing that hinted she'd ever been alive. Just stories, silence, grief buried deep.

And now... here she was? Or at least someone who looked like her. Here, in London, dressed in a black suit, moving with the quiet, almost imperious grace of someone used to commanding attention.

Her eyes met mine for a heartbeat. A polite nod, nothing more. And then she was gone, swallowed by the crowd as if she had never been there at all.

I staggered slightly, gripping my boarding pass like it could anchor me to reality. My heart was hammering, my breath uneven.

How is this possible?

I tried to force myself to rationalize it. Maybe a distant cousin. Maybe someone unrelated but with strikingly similar features. But that logic felt hollow, weak against the memory the sight had stirred, Naina's laugh, the way Mihir had once spoken about his sister, the way her absence had been a wound in his life that no one could touch.

And the strangest part? The city was London. Of all places. A city miles away from home, and yet somehow, impossibly, it felt tied to secrets I wasn't supposed to unravel.

I shook my head again. "It's nothing," I muttered under my breath. "Just... someone who looks like her. Nothing else. Just someone who looks like her."

But my pulse refused to calm, my mind refusing to let it go. That glance, that presence, had left a mark. A whisper of a question I wasn't ready to ask:

Could she really be alive?

I turned back toward my gate, forcing myself to focus on mundane tasks, but the echo of those black eyes followed me down the terminal like a shadow I couldn't shake.

And somewhere deep in my chest, a knot of unease tightened. Because whatever that woman was... she wasn't supposed to exist.

Later That Day

I couldn't focus. My boarding gate, the hum of announcements, even my coffee, nothing anchored me.

Because her. The woman in the black suit.

Her face haunted me. Those black kohl eyes, the same jawline, the subtle tilt of her head... it was Naina. It had to be. And yet... Naina was supposed to be dead. Everyone said so. Everyone.

I walked slowly down the terminal again, pretending to browse the duty-free shops, pretending to scroll on my phone, pretending to care about chocolates or perfumes. But I was only pretending. My eyes kept scanning, half-expecting her to step out of the crowd, to turn that impossibly composed gaze on me again.

Nothing.

I asked a clerk nearby, casually, "Excuse me, do you know who that... woman is?" My voice was careful, neutral, but the knot in my chest tightened.

The clerk frowned. "Sorry, ma'am. Who?"

I felt my jaw clench. Of course. No one noticed her. She had slipped into the crowd like a ghost.

I moved again, weaving through travelers, glancing toward the arrivals gate, the lounge, anywhere she might be. Every time I thought I saw a flash of black, I froze. But it was never her. Just a coat, a bag, a reflection.

This isn't real. It can't be real.

Yet every instinct in me refused to listen. I knew that face. That posture. That calm command of the world around her. And the strangest part? The resemblance to Mihir, subtle but undeniable. It twisted my chest.

I muttered under my breath, pacing in a corner by a coffee kiosk. "Why here? Why now?"

And then I remembered, the rumors, the whispers, the things I'd never been able to verify. Naina Raghuvanshi, missing for years. Officially dead. No photographs, no news, no trace. Nothing. And now, in London, a shadow of her, or someone who looked like her, appeared for just a heartbeat and vanished.

My hands shook slightly as I gripped my boarding pass. "I need to... I need to check," I muttered. My mind raced, thinking about who I could ask discreetly, how I could look up flights, maybe surveillance, maybe even social media... anything.

But every rational thought collided with one simple, terrifying possibility:

What if she really is alive?

The thought made my stomach churn. And yet... my curiosity overpowered the fear. I had to know.

I glanced one last time toward the lounge entrance, heart hammering, eyes scanning the crowd, but the terminal was just a blur of strangers. She was gone. Like she had never existed.

And yet, I knew, somewhere deep down, she wasn't done with me.

I had just stepped out of the small café, still trying to shake off the eerie memory of the woman in emerald.

Then, there she was.

This time, there was no mistaking it. She wasn't a blur in the crowd, wasn't a reflection, wasn't some trick my mind was playing. She was walking back through the arrivals hall, composed, calm, the same impossible poise, the same black kohl eyes that seemed to cut right through the chaos of the airport.

She paused at the entrance to a lounge, glancing around as if scanning the crowd, and for a fraction of a second, her gaze met mine.

My heart froze.

It is her.

Naina Raghuvanshi maybe. Alive. Real. Standing here in London, moving like a shadow of the woman everyone claimed had been gone for years.

I blinked rapidly, my mind racing. How could this be possible? How had she survived? Why here? Why now?

She adjusted the pallu of her sari gracefully, and the soft hum of the airport seemed to quiet around her. For a fleeting second, it was as if the world had shifted to accommodate her presence.

I wanted to step forward, speak, ask a million questions, but my feet refused. I couldn't move.

And then she turned slightly, almost casually, and continued walking, disappearing into a side corridor leading away from the main hall.

I pressed my hand against my chest, struggling to breathe.

This was no coincidence.

Naina was here, and somehow, she was tied to whatever storm Mihir and I were still caught in.

I muttered under my breath, gripping my boarding pass like a lifeline. "Why now...?"

And even as I forced myself to move toward the gate, my eyes kept scanning every corridor, every shadow, every person passing by, hoping, and fearing, I would catch another glimpse of her.

Because now, I knew one thing with terrifying certainty:

She wasn't gone. And neither were the secrets she carried.

I tried to tell myself to calm down, to stop staring like a fool, but my eyes refused. The woman in the black suit, Naina, was moving with the same quiet authority, slipping through corridors as if she owned every inch of the space.

I lingered near a duty-free shop, pretending to check the perfumes, but every fiber of me was tuned to her. My heartbeat was a drum in my ears.

She paused briefly at a boarding lounge, checking a departure screen. The airport lights caught her profile, the sharp jawline, the high cheekbones, the black kohl eyes, and something in the way she held herself, the subtle tilt of her chin, made my chest tighten.

She wasn't just anyone. She wasn't a random traveler.

I edged forward carefully, weaving through the crowd, keeping her in sight without being noticed. Each step made my pulse jump. Every time she shifted, I felt like I was following a ghost, a woman everyone believed had vanished years ago.

Why London? Why now?

I ducked behind a column as she stepped into a small corridor leading to what looked like a private lounge. I risked a glance around the corner. She was still there, standing with her back slightly turned, surveying the area. Calm. Unyielding. Almost... untouchable.

Questions swirled in my mind, choking me:

How is she alive? Why did everyone say she was dead? What does she want here? And why do I feel like this has everything to do with Mihir?

A part of me wanted to confront her, demand answers, refuse to let this mystery go. Another part knew that rushing forward might destroy whatever fragile advantage I had in understanding her presence.

I stayed there, hidden, watching, feeling both fear and fascination.

Because now, I realized, Naina's sudden appearance wasn't random. Whoever she was now, whatever story she carried, it was tied to Mihir, tied to the past, tied to secrets no one had dared speak of.

And somehow, I knew that whatever happened next, I wouldn't be able to ignore her.

Even if I tried.

I kept moving cautiously, pretending to browse another shop, but my eyes never left the corridor where Naina had disappeared. Every instinct screamed at me to stop, to turn back, but I couldn't. Not when she was right there, a heartbeat away, and yet untouchable.

Then, suddenly, she stopped.

I froze, pretending to adjust my bag, but my stomach sank. She wasn't looking at the floor. She was looking at me.

Her black kohl-rimmed eyes, those eyes, were sharp, scanning, calculating. For a second, I thought I imagined it. Then she tilted her head slightly, just enough to make me flinch.

It was a silent acknowledgment, a recognition.

She didn't move closer. She didn't call me out. But the moment stretched long enough for my chest to tighten, my pulse to spike. It was impossible to ignore: she knew I was watching.

She knows.

I ducked behind a display stand, holding my breath, trying to act casual while my mind raced. Who was she now? What did she want? Why had she come to London, and why did I feel, with every fiber of me, that she had a connection not just to Mihir... but to me?

I peeked cautiously from behind the stand. Naina had resumed walking, but the faint tilt of her head, that subtle glance over her shoulder, made it clear she wasn't fooled. She knew I was there.

And somehow... that simple knowledge made my stomach twist.

This isn't just a coincidence. She's here for a reason. And I'm about to get caught in it.

I swallowed hard, gripping my boarding pass tighter than ever. Whatever came next, I knew I couldn't turn away. Not now. Not ever.

Because Naina Raghuvanshi had returned. And the moment our worlds collided, nothing would be the same.

I trailed Naina through the crowd, careful not to be noticed. Each step felt heavier than the last, my pulse hammering in my ears.

She moved with the same quiet authority as before, but now her pace slowed slightly, as if she was intentionally heading somewhere that wasn't meant for ordinary travelers.

I followed cautiously, ducking behind pillars, scanning the signs. Staff Only. Authorized Personnel. Private Lounge.

My stomach tightened. Of course. She's going somewhere she shouldn't be... and I'm about to follow her.

Naina paused at a door marked Restricted Access. She glanced around, and for a split second, her eyes flicked to mine, just enough to make me flinch, almost step back, but not entirely.

A shiver ran down my spine. She knew.

She pushed the door open and slipped inside, her movements deliberate, almost calculated. The moment the door clicked shut behind her, I pressed myself against the wall beside it.

My heartbeat roared in my chest. Do I go in? Can I even go in?

I leaned closer, straining to hear. From the other side came muffled voices. One of them, a man's voice, low, calm, unmistakably formal. My stomach lurched.

"...she knows," the voice said.

I froze.

"She?" another voice asked.

Naina's voice came next, soft, steady, commanding, carrying that same air that had made her presence so impossible to ignore:

"She sees more than she should. But she won't leave until she knows the truth."

My hands clenched. Truth?

The air around the door seemed charged, heavy with secrets I wasn't supposed to uncover yet. I pressed my back against the wall, heart racing.

This wasn't just chance. Naina's appearance, her knowledge, the way she moved through these restricted space, it all felt orchestrated, purposeful.

And somewhere deep down, I knew that whatever she was planning, it was connected to Mihir. Somehow, some way.

I swallowed, debating whether to retreat or follow further. Every instinct screamed danger. Every instinct screamed curiosity.

And even as my body froze in indecision, I knew one thing with absolute certainty:

I couldn't let her leave without knowing who she really was.

My heart thundered in my chest as I edged closer to the Restricted Access door. Every step felt like it echoed through the corridor, though the noise of the airport beyond masked it just enough.

I pressed myself against the wall, peeking around the corner of the restricted corridor. The room was dim, quiet except for low, serious voices.

There she was, Naina. Alive. Standing tall, composed, every bit the presence I remembered from faint whispers and old family stories. Her black kohl-lined eyes were sharp, focused, unwavering.

I stayed back, keeping to the shadows, my heart hammering as I followed Naina through the quieter corridors of the airport. Every step she took was deliberate, precise, the kind of movement that spoke of someone who had lived in careful secrecy for years.

The fragments of conversation I caught made my chest tighten. A man I didn't recognize spoke, low and cautious, clearly briefing her.

"Naina Raghuvanshi," he said. The name echoed in the room, sharp and deliberate.

I froze.

It is her.

Every rumor, every story, every whispered memory of Mihir's younger sister slammed into me. Officially, she was dead. Everyone, even Mihir himself, mourned her disappearance years ago. He had no idea she was alive.

And yet, here she was. In London. Standing before me, real and alive, her black kohl eyes sharp, her posture commanding.

My pulse spiked. Questions bombarded me:

If she's alive, why hasn't Mihir found out? Where has she been all these years? What is she doing here? And Advit, Mihir's younger brother, where is he in all of this?

Naina spoke again, calm but commanding, giving instructions to the man. "Everything moves according to plan. Keep it contained. No one can know yet. Not him. Not anyone."

The words made my stomach twist. Not him... Mihir doesn't know. She's been hiding this from everyone, even him.

I pressed myself closer to the wall, careful to remain unseen. Her voice carried a mix of authority and careful calculation, and every move she made hinted at a purpose I couldn't yet grasp.

She checked her phone briefly, glancing at names I didn't recognize, and then moved toward another corridor marked Authorized Personnel Only.

I hesitated for only a moment before deciding. I couldn't let her slip away again. My curiosity, my need for answers, overpowered caution. I followed, careful and silent, weaving through shadows.

Naina Raghuvanshi was alive. Mihir had no idea. And I was caught in the middle of a secret that could change everything.

I whispered under my breath, gripping my boarding pass like a lifeline: "I have to know... I have to understand what she's doing here."

I edged forward carefully, heart thudding, every step measured. The corridor narrowed, quiet except for the muffled voices coming from the room ahead.

Naina was inside, speaking with the same calm authority that had haunted my thoughts since the first glimpse. The man I didn't recognize was there too, quietly attentive, taking notes or listening intently.

"...it has to remain contained," Naina said, her voice low but firm. "No one can know, not Mihir, not anyone. Timing is everything. One misstep and it all falls apart."

My stomach dropped. Timing... contains... What was she planning? And why here, in London?

The man spoke again, cautious, hesitant. "Are you sure it's safe, Naina? If anyone finds out..."

She cut him off with a sharp glance. "It's too late for doubts. I've been waiting years for this. Years."

I pressed myself against the wall, forcing myself to stay hidden, though my curiosity burned like fire. Every word, every tone suggested she wasn't just hiding, she was executing something meticulous, deliberate. Something that could change everything for Mihir and his family.

And then she said it, softly, almost to herself:

"I've kept away from him all this time... for his sake. And Advit's."

My chest tightened. Advit. Mihir's younger brother. Alive. Somewhere. And somehow, he was tied to whatever Naina had been planning in secret.

This... this isn't just a visit. She's orchestrating something bigger than I can imagine.

I inched forward a little, careful not to make a sound. Naina shifted, pulling out a folder, spreading papers across a small table, flight manifests, hotel plans, addresses. My eyes widened. She was organizing something in London, meticulously, almost as if preparing for an operation.

I swallowed hard, realizing the gravity of what I was witnessing. Whoever she was meeting, whatever she was planning, it was no coincidence that I had stumbled upon it.

She paused for a moment, looking out the small corridor window, eyes distant. I caught the faintest flicker of emotion, longing, calculation, something buried deep, before she returned to her papers.

I exhaled slowly, barely daring to breathe. I had questions, more than I could count:

Why is she alive? Why London? Why now? And where is Mihir's family in all of this?

I pressed myself against the wall again, heart hammering, mind spinning. One thing was certain: Naina Raghuvanshi was alive, she was here for a purpose, and I had just stepped into a world of secrets far larger than I had ever imagined.

And yet... I couldn't turn away.

Because if Mihir didn't know, if Advit didn't know, I had no choice but to keep watching, to see what she would do next.

I pressed myself flat against the wall, inching forward as quietly as possible. The papers on the table, the low murmur of conversation, every sound seemed amplified, every heartbeat deafening.

Naina moved gracefully around the room, checking documents, making notes, occasionally glancing toward the doorway. My stomach tightened. One wrong step, one creak of the floor... and I'd be exposed.

Then, suddenly, she paused.

Her black kohl eyes flicked in my direction, not directly at me, but toward the shadows where I was hiding. I froze, barely daring to breathe.

For a heartbeat, the world seemed to still. Her gaze lingered longer than it should have, and a chill ran down my spine.

She knows.

Or at least... she suspects.

I pressed myself tighter against the wall, trying to disappear completely. She moved again, almost casually, but there was a subtle shift in her posture, a faint awareness that someone was watching. Her eyes scanned the room, then the corridor outside, pausing just long enough to make my pulse hammer in my chest.

The man beside her spoke, low, unaware: "Everything's in place. Are you certain about this?"

Naina's reply was soft, calm, commanding, yet carried an edge I couldn't place:

"I've accounted for everything. There's no risk... except the unexpected."

My stomach dropped. The unexpected... that's me.

I ducked lower, holding my breath, willing her to turn away, to resume her work and forget the fleeting suspicion she'd felt. Slowly, deliberately, she returned to her papers, checking a folder, moving with that same imperious precision that made my chest tighten.

I exhaled slowly, though the adrenaline still thrummed through my veins. That almost-moment of recognition, her subtle awareness, made me realize just how dangerous this was.

And yet... I couldn't stop.

Because if Naina Raghuvanshi was here, alive, planning something bigger than anyone knew , I had to know.

Every instinct screamed at me to retreat, to turn back, to leave the secrets of this room alone. But another, louder instinct, one I couldn't ignore, whispered:

Keep watching. Whatever happens next, you'll need to be ready.

I had taken one cautious step too far. My foot brushed against a small metal box on the floor, a faint clatter, almost imperceptible, but loud enough in the quiet room.

Naina's head snapped up. Her black kohl eyes, sharp and piercing, found me instantly.

Caught.

I froze, every muscle rigid, my heartbeat hammering like a drum. She didn't raise her voice. She didn't move quickly. She simply studied me, calm, controlled, unreadable, like she had expected this moment all along.

"You," she said, her voice soft, but every word carried weight. "Why are you here?"

My throat went dry. I opened my mouth, closed it, tried to speak. anything, but the words refused to form.

She stepped closer, slow, deliberate. My stomach dropped as I realized how small the distance was between us. I could see every detail: the faint lines around her eyes, the subtle confidence in her posture, the aura of someone who had lived in the shadows her whole life.

"You're not supposed to be here," she continued, her eyes narrowing slightly. "And yet... here you are."

I swallowed hard, trying to find my voice. "I... I'm sorry. I didn't mean... I was just... I—"

Her gaze cut me off, sharp as a knife. "You were watching. Observing. Following me."

I nodded, unable to deny it. My curiosity had betrayed me. "I... I had to know. Are you... are you Naina Raghuvanshi?"

Her lips curved in the faintest, almost imperceptible smile. "So you've heard the stories. And you believe them?"

"Yes," I whispered, heart hammering. "I thought... I thought you were dead."

Her expression didn't change, but her eyes softened ever so slightly. "Dead to the world, yes. But alive... alive in ways that matter. Alive in ways you don't understand yet."

I took a cautious step back, suddenly aware of how exposed I was, how vulnerable. "Why... why are you here in London? And... Mihir... he doesn't know you're alive. He, he has no idea."

Naina's gaze hardened for a fraction of a second. "No, he doesn't. And he mustn't. Not yet. There are things that need to happen before he can know. Before anyone can know."

My mind reeled. Advit... Mihir's younger brother. If Naina was alive, what had happened to him? Where was he? And what had Naina been planning all these years, in silence, in shadows, in secrecy?

"You have questions," she said quietly, almost as if reading my thoughts. "But not all answers are yours to have... yet."

Her eyes flicked to the door behind me, as if daring me to move. I knew, in that instant, that I couldn't leave, and I couldn't stay, either.

"You shouldn't be here," she whispered again, softer this time. "But now that you are... I suppose you must decide: step back... or step further into the truth."

And just like that, the weight of her presence pressed down on me. Alive, secretive, untouchable, Naina Raghuvanshi had appeared in my life, and nothing would ever be the same.

I stood frozen, heart hammering, trapped in the weight of her gaze. Every instinct screamed at me to retreat, to run, to escape the danger and the unknown.

But something in her presence, something in the sharp intelligence in her black kohl eyes, held me rooted in place. I couldn't walk away. Not yet.

"You have a choice," Naina said softly, her voice calm but commanding. "You can leave now, forget you ever saw me. Walk away and return to your world, knowing nothing. Or..." She paused, letting the words hang. "...you can follow. Step further into the truth. Into what I've been building, what I've been protecting."

I swallowed hard. My pulse roared in my ears. Follow, and I risked everything, exposure, danger, perhaps even anger from Mihir if he ever found out. Retreat, and I would be left with questions that would never leave me.

"I..." I began, my voice trembling. "I need to know... why. Why are you here? What's happened to Advit? And... why hasn't Mihir found out?"

Her eyes flickered, just for a moment, and softened. "You ask dangerous questions."

"I don't care," I said, voice firmer, despite my racing heart. "I need to know. If you're alive... if Advit's alive... everything matters."

Naina studied me for a long, quiet moment. Then she nodded slightly. "Very well. You want to follow... you will. But know this: what you see, what you learn, is not for the faint-hearted. And nothing will be as it seems."

I hesitated, my chest tightening with a mix of fear and curiosity. Then, despite every instinct telling me to run, I took a careful step forward.

Her faintest smile touched her lips, almost imperceptible. "Good," she said. "Follow closely. But tread carefully. Secrets have teeth."

And with that, she moved toward a side corridor, purpose in every step, and I followed, my mind a whirlwind of questions, adrenaline, and a gnawing sense of inevitability:

If Mihir doesn't know... if Advit is out there... what has Naina been planning all these years? And how far will I have to go to uncover the truth?

Every step brought me closer to answers, and deeper into a world of secrets, danger, and revelations that I wasn't sure I was ready for.

The corridor twisted sharply, narrow and dimly lit, far removed from the bustle of the terminal. I followed silently, keeping a careful distance behind Naina. Every step she took was deliberate, confident, the kind of grace that belonged to someone who had moved through shadows her whole life.

She slipped through a discreet door marked Staff & Authorized Personnel Only. I pressed myself against the wall, my pulse thundering, and slipped inside just a moment later, careful not to make a sound.

The room beyond was small but busy, maps of London spread across a table, folders neatly stacked with names and addresses, and laptops displaying spreadsheets, flight manifests, and hotel bookings. Every item suggested meticulous planning.

Naina moved around the room, giving terse, calm instructions to a handful of people I didn't recognize. Their deference to her was unmistakable. She was in charge here. She was orchestrating something.

I ducked behind a partition, heart hammering, catching fragments of her conversation:

"Keep the schedules tight. No deviations. Ensure that nothing leaks, no one can know, not Mihir, not anyone."

And then she said something that froze me in place:

"Advit must remain protected. He cannot be exposed until everything is in position."

My breath caught. Advit... Mihir's younger brother... alive... and somehow, she's been protecting him all this time.

The people around her nodded, moving efficiently, clearly trained and aware of the stakes. I could see that Naina's network was extensive, highly organized, and operating with a precision that made my head spin.

I pressed myself lower, straining to see more. Every file she touched, every note she made, every instruction she gave hinted at a mission, something bigger than London, bigger than anyone I knew, and deeply connected to her family's past.

And yet, she moved with such calm, such control, that it was almost terrifying.

I whispered to myself again, heart hammering: "If Mihir doesn't know... if Advit doesn't know... what is she planning? And why here, in London?"

Naina paused at one of the tables, glancing at a folder with a soft exhale, almost to herself:

"I've waited long enough. Now it begins."

My chest tightened. Begins? What begins? And what does this mean for Mihir, for Advit... and for me?

I realized then that I had stepped into something far larger than I could imagine, a world of secrets, plans, and shadows that had been hidden for years. And Naina Raghuvanshi, alive, calculating, and untouchable, was at the center of it all.

I swallowed hard. I had to know more.

Because if Mihir didn't know, and Advit's safety was in her hands... then every secret she carried, every decision she made, would ripple across their lives, and mine.

My eyes caught the glowing screen of my phone just as I stumbled slightly from exhaustion.

8:45 PM.

My stomach dropped. My flight. 4:25 PM. Gone. Missed.

A panic gripped me, and I immediately glanced at my call log.

87 missed calls.

All from Mihir.

I froze, fingers trembling. My thumb hovered over his name, desperate to call back, desperate to hear his voice, to explain, to reassure him that I was okay.

"Just one" I whispered, before the sharp, searing pain exploded at the back of my head.

Everything went black.

The world tipped sideways. My vision blurred, colors smeared into one another. The maps, the folders, the dim lights of the hidden corridor, all streaked together.

I stumbled forward, trying to steady myself, my fingers clawing at the floor.

A figure loomed above me, dark, indistinct, a silhouette in the chaos of pain and dizziness.

"N... no..." My voice trembled as I tried to anchor myself. My mind screamed, trying to remember, to fight, to call Mihir back, but the pain was overwhelming.

The last thing I saw before the darkness claimed me was a man, tall, imposing, unrecognizable, moving with deliberate purpose. His face, blurred and shadowed, carried a menace I couldn't place.

And then... nothing.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

AND YES TELL ME HOW WAS THE CHAPTER??????

To be continued

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